


Do you... well... I mean... I could give you a massage?

by isthatbloodonhisshirt (wasterella)



Series: Spreading Positivity 2020 [4]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Accidental Boners, Alpha Derek, Derek Hale Deserves Nice Things, Don’t copy to another site, Getting Together, M/M, Massage, Mutual Pining, Pining, Stiles Stilinski is a Nice Thing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-21
Updated: 2020-03-21
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:54:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23238772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wasterella/pseuds/isthatbloodonhisshirt
Summary: “I need to piss,” Stiles muttered, reaching up blindly behind himself for his desk with one arm. It didn’t hurt his neck to use that arm, which he was thankful for. Really, the only reason he was bothering to go to the bathroom now was because he was already in pain and if he didn’t peeright now, Derek was going to know about it not only because he was a Werewolf with a good nose.Presumably, he also had good eyes, and Stiles’ jeans were not going to hide wetness. Also, he didn’t want to piss in his jeans, that was gross.“Any particular reason you shared that exciting and interesting little tidbit?” Derek asked, arms crossed and twisting at the waist to watch Stiles make his way out of the bedroom and to the bathroom.“Sharing is caring?” Stiles offered, starting to enter the washroom before pausing to point an accusatory finger at the Werewolf. “Don’t listen in, this is aprivatemoment!”“I’ll try to restrain myself,” Derek said dryly, and Stiles couldn’t help but grin at the clear eyeroll he heard in his voice.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Series: Spreading Positivity 2020 [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1667605
Comments: 35
Kudos: 1459





	Do you... well... I mean... I could give you a massage?

**Author's Note:**

> Is it just me, or are these getting longer... -squints-

He needed to get up to pee. Like, really badly. Like so, so badly. There was no level above the current level of needing to pee, he had reached peak pee requirement levels. He had to pee so bad it was actually painful. 

But he really didn’t want to move. He felt like his bladder exploding would probably hurt less than the muscle in his neck. He was going to murder his past self for this, because he should’ve known better than to sleep the way he had. 

It wasn’t his fault though! He’d been happily doing homework for one of his more complex university courses and of course, Derek. 

Because it was always Derek. 

He’d come clambering in through his window—really, at this point Stiles felt like he just did it to show off, because he knew damn well he could come through the front door—and had started talking about some weird Pixies or Fairies or tiny Elf things, Stiles didn’t even know. But apparently they’d infested the loft and had sharp little teeth and Derek was very unhappy about this. 

Naturally, this was now Stiles’ problem, and he had to help Derek get rid of them. Which had led to an entire night of research. He’d figured out the remedy—because of course he had, he was Stiles, and what kind of token human would he be if he couldn’t figure out how to get rid of _Pixies_?!—and Derek had gone off on his merry way. 

Leaving Stiles to his unfinished homework at four in the morning with class looming at eight. 

Stiles had finished, because of course he had. Again, he was Stiles. He was an expert at juggling his education and certain death after so many years of practice. So, he’d finished, and then gone to class, and then come home and promptly passed out in his chair. Because somehow his brain had decided the chair was much better than his bed, despite it being literally five feet to the left of his chair. 

Like, he literally could’ve just fallen over and still landed mostly on his bed. 

But _no_. Apparently his smartypants smart person brain had used up all its available smartness for the day and he’d instead collapsed in his chair with his head tilted back and his mouth hanging open. 

And that was where he woke up five hours later, with his bladder full and aching, and his neck twisted at a horrible angle that made everything hurt when he tried to move it. 

He’d gotten many cricks in his neck over the years, considering his various imaginative sleeping positions, but somehow this one was... worse. He didn’t know _how_ he’d managed that, but he had. Perhaps it was because usually it was his back that was bent all weird, like when he was half off his bed with his face on the carpet, or lying down awkwardly on a row of seats. Usually his back bore the brunt of it, but today, it was his neck. 

Stupid Derek and his stupid Pixies. Stiles would love to shove a Pixie right up his—

“Are you okay?” 

“Fuck me!” Stiles flailed and immediately fell off his chair, which was a bad thing for both his bladder _and_ his neck. Sharp pain stabbed through him from the neck down, making him exhale harshly and his vision crackle. 

His bladder... Well, thank God for small miracles, because somehow he’d managed not to piss himself. That was all he needed, peeing his pants in the presence of the great Derek Hale. He’d never live it down.

Whatever, not like Stiles didn’t have any dirt on him. Apparently one of the Pixies bit him in the butt. 

The _butt_! Bold. Very forward. Pixies apparently had no class.

Whatever, Derek deserved it. His butt was too perfect anyway. 

“I need to piss,” Stiles muttered, reaching up blindly behind himself for his desk with one arm. It didn’t hurt his neck to use that arm, which he was thankful for. Really, the only reason he was bothering to go to the bathroom now was because he was already in pain and if he didn’t pee _right now_ , Derek was going to know about it not only because he was a Werewolf with a good nose. 

Presumably, he also had good eyes, and Stiles’ jeans were not going to hide wetness. Also, he didn’t want to piss in his jeans, that was gross. 

“Any particular reason you shared that exciting and interesting little tidbit?” Derek asked, arms crossed and twisting at the waist to watch Stiles make his way out of the bedroom and to the bathroom. 

“Sharing is caring?” Stiles offered, starting to enter the washroom before pausing to point an accusatory finger at the Werewolf. “Don’t listen in, this is a _private_ moment!” 

“I’ll try to restrain myself,” Derek said dryly, and Stiles couldn’t help but grin at the clear eyeroll he heard in his voice. 

He loved how comfortable Derek always was around him. With his Betas, he was the big grr-I-am-Alpha-Werewolf Werewolf. With Stiles, he was just _Derek_. It was probably why he’d been coming around to Stiles’ place so often lately.

Well, that and the fact that Stiles didn’t have Pixies biting people’s butts, but to be fair to Derek, that was a relatively new problem. 

Finishing up his business and feeling _much_ better, Stiles washed his hands and headed back for his room, rubbing at the sore spot on his neck with a wince. When he walked back into the room, Derek had stolen his desk chair and was slowly flipping through the pages of one of Stiles’ textbooks. 

“Nerd,” he teased with a small smile, but Derek didn’t even look up. He just flipped Stiles off while continuing to flip pages. 

Stiles went to sit on his bed, since his chair was being commandeered, and watched Derek flip pages while he continued to rub at his neck. They were both silent for a few moments, a rare feat since Stiles generally had trouble with silence. It wasn’t that he liked talking, per se, it was more that he _hated_ when things were quiet. 

He felt like it was awkward when things were quiet. Like people were just uncomfortably hanging out together and didn’t know what to say. For some reason, he never felt uncomfortable with Derek when they were quiet. He attributed it to their countless hours of researching together, but it was more than that. 

Actually, he felt like it was more because Derek was one of the only people who made him feel heard. When Stiles filled the silence with other people, it was because he worried that if it stretched too long, things would get weird and they’d stop listening to him if he had something important to say. With Derek, every word out of his mouth was given the Werewolf’s undivided attention, so it made him feel like he had less to say. 

He didn’t have to say ten sentences to feel heard when Derek made it clear he was listening to the first one. Unlike Scott, whose selective hearing generally had him pick up only one out of every five words. 

Stiles didn’t know how he managed to string together sentences in his head. 

He kept rubbing at the area, annoyed he couldn’t _quite_ reach it, and must’ve made a noise—or let off some chemosignal or who knew what—because Derek turned to him, fingers hovering over a page, about to flip it. 

“What’s wrong?” 

“Crick in my neck,” he replied, still pressing down on the area as close as he could. For all his flailing, he really wasn’t very flexible. Unfair. “Does Werewolf pain-sucking extend to cricks in the neck?” 

“It works on all pain,” Derek confirmed. “But like with everything else, when it wears off, it makes it feel twice as painful.” 

“Great.” Stiles sighed, trying to contort himself a bit further to reach back. “If I could at least, like, _press down_ on it or something, it might help. Honestly, I don’t even know if it’s a crick in my neck so much as my entire body being one huge tensed ball of anxiety. Do you know how hard it is to save the world while doing homework? Let me tell you, it’s not easy. And try having ADHD at the same time. Really, you guys are all lucky you’re still alive, I have _really_ been abusing the Adderall.” 

Derek didn’t roll his eyes like Stiles expected him to. Instead, it looked like he was once again putting the blame on himself. Everything bad that happened ever in the history of existence was Derek Hale’s fault. Oh no, the ice caps were melting! Derek’s fault. Poverty was at an all time high! Derek’s fault. 

Mrs. Germanis down the street fell in the tub this morning because she didn’t have any little adhesive unicorns in her shower! Totally, one-hundred percent Derek’s fault. He should’ve thought to install those little non-slip adhesive unicorns! 

Or maybe goats, Mrs. Germanis really seemed to like goats. 

“Stop looking at me like that,” Stiles insisted. 

“I’m not looking at you like anything,” Derek argued. 

“You are looking in my general direction with a ‘woe is me’ look on your face like all the polar bears in the world are being hunted into extinction and it’s all your fault.”

“Polar bears _are_ being hunted into extinction.” 

Stiles’ head shot up, a small noise escaping him. “What, really? But they’re so _cute_!” 

Derek gave him a look that clearly said he was missing the point. Stiles kept staring at him to see if he could convince Derek to keep talking about polar bears—he knew tigers and elephants were at risk, but _polar bears_? Was nothing sacred? 

“Stiles.”

“Derek!” he insisted, still trying to reach for the sore spot. 

Derek’s eyes shifted from his face to Stiles’ arm, then back again. He turned fully towards Stiles, the chair creaking at the action, and licked his lips. 

“Do you...” Derek trailed off and Stiles arched an eyebrow, watching him lick his lips again. “Well... I mean...” Derek almost looked _uncomfortable_. This was kind of new territory. “I could give you a massage?” 

Stiles stilled immediately with one hand pressing against his opposite elbow in an attempt to dislocate his arm enough to reach the spot. 

Derek could do what now? 

“If you wanted,” he added softly, almost unsure. “It was just a thought. It’s my fault that you didn’t get any sleep last night to begin with, and I know you passed out in your chair when you got home.” 

“How do you know?” Stiles demanded, arms still all weird and angled. “Were you watching me or something?” 

“I’ve been friends with you long enough to know your weird sleeping habits,” Derek said dryly. “Do you want the massage or not?” 

“I—yes?” Stiles dropped his arms, nodding emphatically. A _massage_ from _Derek Hale_?! Thank you, yes please, very much. “Yes. Yeah, that—yes. Solid yes.” 

“Shut up and lie down,” Derek said, sounding like he was already regretting this. 

“No take-backsies!” Stiles warned him, even as he kicked off his shoes, wrestled out of his hoodie, and obediently lay on his stomach on his bed, wincing at the pain shooting down from his neck. 

Shoving both hands under his pillow and propping it up a bit, he turned his face to press his cheek on the soft material, staring at his wall while Derek shucked his leather jacket and kicked off his own shoes. The bed dipped as Derek climbed onto it, and Stiles resisted the urge to make a crack about his weight when Derek straddled his hips and partially sat on his ass.

If he made a crack about Derek’s weight, he _definitely_ wasn’t getting that massage. 

“Tell me if I’m going too hard.”

There were a _lot_ of things Stiles could say in response to that but, again, massage. He had to pick his battles, so it was safer to keep his mouth _shut_. He just grunted in acknowledgement and felt Derek press his fingers lightly along both shoulder blades. 

Resisting the urge to roll his eyes, he said, “I know I’m human but you don’t have to go _that_ lig—oh my God!” 

He had no idea what had just happened. One second Derek was lightly pressing fingers into his back, and the next Stiles was pretty sure he’d just reached nirvana or something. It hurt so fucking good, and he let out the filthiest moan he’d ever produced in his life. 

Derek paused in what he was doing at the sound and Stiles whined. 

“Don’t stop, what the hell.” It came out so suggestive that he could understand why Derek hesitated before starting back up again. 

To be fair, this was better than sex. Stiles was going to continue to make the most suggestive sounds ever because this was better than sex. So much better than sex. _Leagues_ better than sex. 

“Fuck,” he groaned, extending the word out while doing so. Derek’s thumb had just dug into a particularly painful spot and God, it was the best feeling. “Can you do this all the time? Like, payment for help with research or something?” 

“I buy you food as payment for the research,” Derek said, voice sounding a bit lower than usual. Stiles felt him shift on top of him, like he was trying to put most of his weight onto his own knees as opposed to on Stiles. 

“Well, instead of buying me food, I now demand payment by massage.” He let out another filthy groan, burying his face in his pillow. “Fuck, _yes_.” 

“Are you done making those noises?” Derek sounded... weird. If Stiles didn’t know better, he’d have thought Derek had shifted. But that was ridiculous, and Stiles _did_ know better. 

“No,” he insisted into his pillow. “I’m not. You have the hands of a God.” He groaned again, arching his back slightly before moving to bow it. When he did so, he connected with Derek again, the Werewolf having taken all of his weight off him, and frowned. 

Lifting his head up from the pillow and frowning straight ahead at his headboard, he felt Derek’s hands freeze against his back and turned to look over his shoulder—his neck managed it without hurting at _all_! 

“Are you har—?” Stiles cut off when he caught sight of Derek’s crotch. 

He was wearing very tight pants. Derek always did, like he was allergic to comfort or something—seriously, leather jackets were nice, but comfortable they were _not_. 

The pants seemed to be even _tighter_ than usual, and that was _definitely_ a boner. 

Derek immediately lifted himself off Stiles, throwing his legs back over his body and got to his feet, moving quickly across the room to grab his jacket and shoes. 

“I should go.” 

What was happening? What had just happened? Had Derek... Had Stiles turned Derek on with his _noises_?! 

It took a few seconds for his brain to catch up, but when he saw Derek book it for the door, Stiles flailed his way off the bed, tripped, almost smashed his head into the dresser, and managed to slam himself into the door hard enough to shut it, leaning against it to stop Derek from escaping.

“Move,” Derek ordered. Stiles realized in that moment that Derek _had_ wolfed out. His voice sounded weird because he had fangs, and his eyes were bright red, and his _dick_ was _hard_ and _wow_ , this was a lot. This was a lot to take in right now. 

“I know you’re allergic to feelings, but I’m not. I’ve got no allergies to feelings. Feelings are not a thing I avoid, they are a thing I am very much interested in discussing, especially right now, with you, immediately. Feelings.” 

“I don’t have feelings,” Derek deadpanned, even as his eyes glowed just _that_ little bit brighter. 

“Are you sure?” Stiles asked, looking down pointedly. “Your dick suggests otherwise. I believe your dick a lot more than your mouth.” 

Derek turned, likely to make a break for the window, and Stiles chased after him, tripping on the same damn thing he’d tripped over on his way to the door, and slammed both hands against his window, as if that would stop Derek from escaping more than the desk would. 

“Stiles.”

“Derek,” he said in response. “Come on, would it _kill_ you to admit you’re in love with me?” 

He smirked when he said it, mostly for his own benefit since he knew it was all physical attraction from Derek’s side, but the smile fell right off his face at Derek’s next words. 

“No, but it might kill _you_.” 

“I—what?” Stiles stared at him, mouth hanging open. “Wait, you’re in love with me?!” 

“Took you this long to figure that out?” Derek asked dryly. “And you’re supposed to be the smart one.” 

Stiles just gaped at him, brain struggling to reboot after those words because... 

Because... 

What? 

Derek seemed to recognize that he’d short-circuited his brain because he just let out an aggrieved sigh and raked a hand through his hair. “You want feelings, fine. We’ll talk feelings. Yes, I’m in love with you. And yes, I know you’re in love with me. Or at least in lust with me, but lust and love have different chemosignals so it’s kind of half-and-half. But I’m an Alpha Werewolf Stiles, I’m always going to have people after me. I’m always going to be in danger. And I don’t want to put _you_ in danger because I was selfish and decided what I wanted was more important than your safety.” He motioned between them. “There. Feelings. Can I go now?” 

When he turned to head for the door, Stiles urgently raced back across to room, hurting his shoulder with how hard he slammed into the door just as Derek reached to open it. 

“For fuck’s sake, Stiles!” 

“I’m always in danger!” Stiles blurted out before Derek could argue any further. “I’m never going to stop being part of this pack, whether we’re together or not. Because I care about Scott. And about Jackson. And about _you_. So even if you keep me at arm’s length, I’m still gonna be here. And you should know by now I’m really stubborn, so like, wouldn’t you rather know _exactly_ where I am at all times rather than having to hunt me down? Like, you know, just saying, if I was, say, perhaps, I don’t know, _in your bed_ , then you’d always, you know, be aware of where I am. Can watch out for my well-being and all that. Really, it’s beneficial. Mutually beneficial, even. I can help with all those problems you keep having in the loft. Like with the Pixies. And those Griggs last week. And the Gnomes the week before. And the—oh my God, you’ve been lying!” 

Stiles’ mouth dropped open when he saw Derek’s ears beginning to turn red. Derek didn’t have any Pixies at all! They had _not_ , in fact, bitten him in the butt! Everything he’d said had been infesting his loft was a _lie_! Because things had been quiet in Beacon Hills for _months_ , and that meant Derek probably assumed he had no reason to see Stiles because apparently being friends was a foreign concept to him—Stiles forgave him, Derek was socially awkward—so he’d been making up excuses to come by and spend time with him. 

“Oh my God, you _liar_!” Stiles let out a loud laugh. “You are seriously, totally, _absolutely_ gone for me!” 

“God knows why,” Derek muttered but hey, Stiles noticed that he was _still_ hard, so that was something. 

Either he was still turned on by the mere sight of Stiles, or his pants were so tight they’d trapped his dick in place. 

“You know,” Stiles said, stretching the last vowel out a bit, “I’m pretty good with my mouth. And you seem to be pretty good with your hands. Since you are currently lacking in the Pixies department, perhaps we could... learn just _how_ good I am with my mouth. And you are with your hands.” Stiles raised both eyebrows in an inquiring way. 

There was like, a fifty-fifty chance this would work, given how hard Derek was and the fact that he was still partially wolfed out. 

When Derek turned away from him, the chances plummeted to about eighty-twenty, and he was about to make another mad dash across the room to the window but didn’t end up having to. All Derek had done was turn to grab Stiles’ hoodie off the back of his chair, tossing it to him. 

Looked like it had just jumped to one-hundred. 

“Tell your dad you’ll be home late.” 

“Hey, I am an _adult_ ,” Stiles proclaimed while he got one arm through the sleeve of his hoodie. “I can stay out _all_ night if I want to.” 

“For an adult, you seem to have trouble getting clothes on,” Derek said. 

Stiles frowned, looking down at what he was doing, and realized he’d been trying to shove his arm into the wrong sleeve. He hastily yanked it out so he could put it into the right sleeve, Derek moving closer and crowding him against the door. 

“Don’t stress about the hoodie too much,” he said, voice seeming to drop a few octaves, “you’re not going to be wearing it long.” 

“I swear to God,” Stiles said, scrambling for the doorknob behind himself and yanking the door open hard enough to hit himself, “if we get pulled over while you speed to the loft, I’m going to kill someone.” 

Derek just grinned, looking almost feral what with the eyes and the teeth, but Stiles wouldn’t have it any other way. They made it down the stairs and out of the house in record time. 

Nobody stopped them while Derek sped towards the loft. 

Stiles did _not_ , in fact, return home late. As predicted, he was out all night.

And all day.

And all night again. 

It was hard to feel motivated to go home when his bed at home didn’t have an Alpha Werewolf with magical hands. 

And _wow_ were those hands magical. 

**END.**

**Author's Note:**

> Teen Wolf (c) Jeff Davis
> 
> Come chill with me on [Tumblr](https://isthatbloodonhisshirt.tumblr.com/).


End file.
